


there's no aphrodisiac like loneliness

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Mike Ross, Fights, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hospitalization, Humor, Kissing, Love, M/M, Nudity, Prison Sex, Protectiveness, Self-Sacrifice, Showers, Slow Burn, Whump, that is an important tag ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:04:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: “You’ll be alright, kid,” Kevin told him, “give it some time.”His voice was thick and slow, and his hand was firm; Mike felt a little sliver of something coax its way past his panic, felt a warm glimmer of relief nestle behind his ribs and thread itself through a heartbeat. His next breath came easier.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _AU: Kevin is unrelated to William Sutter, Frank Gallo wasn't forewarned of Mike's connection to Harvey, and Mike broke up with Rachel before he went to prison. Title taken from No Aphrodisiac by The Whitlams. Updates will be pretty regular._

The first day was the hardest.

Everyone had told Mike that this would be the case, but he still hadn’t been entirely prepared for it. They shaved his head and told him to strip, put everything he owned inside a bag, and accompany a guard to a block of showers. The air was cold against his body, against all that bare skin, but the guard had flat eyes and couldn’t have given less of a fuck about his nakedness. He wasn’t sure whether that made it better or worse. He tried to stand up straight and remind himself that he’d willingly entered into a guilty plea, but that didn’t help. The tiles were gritty and hard under his feet. The lights overhead were fluorescent. The lines of his shoulders curled inward, trembling a little as he stood beneath a chilly spray of water, and staring fixedly at the rusted shower head didn’t help.

The guard stood and watched. His gaze, empty and cold, was like something physical that settled against Mike’s body. It was invasive. Uncomfortable.

Mike tried to ignore the feeling.

He was dressed in a blue prison uniform soon after, body damp and soggy beneath stiff fabric. He was inmate 53296 now. The prison closed in around him like a cave, bars and shadows and looming figures leaned towards him like he was the centre of gravity, like everything would collapse down onto him in an inescapable crush. It was difficult to breathe.

He was led to his cell. A man lay on the bed opposite his, so Mike kept his gaze low to the ground. The guard left.

Mike took a seat on the edge of the bed, clammy hands against his knees. There was silence for a long moment, interrupted by the hush of fabric as his cellmate shifted atop cheap starched sheets– and then a quiet, throaty chuckle.

“First time in prison, huh.”

Mike chanced a peek upwards. His fellow prisoner was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, writing something in a small book. His hands seemed too big for the pen, his torso solid beneath the shape of his uniform, and there was a gentle sort of strength about him. He had the clean, open face of a man who worked with his hands, a man with intellect and practical know-how. His eyes were a deep brown, framed by short bursts of lines and set wide; a broad grin stretched across a stone jaw, the expression unexpectedly genuine. Mike felt safe.

“Yeah,” he admitted, the word escaping his mouth in a nervous burst of breath, “Yeah, it is.”

The man nodded kindly, his smile growing, crinkling the edges of his eyes. He dropped the book and pen onto the bed, shifting forward and extending an open hand.

“Kevin,” he said, “Kevin Miller.”

Mike shook his hand, felt the comforting grasp of a confident handshake. He didn’t want to let go, but he did.

“Mike Ross,” he replied.

Kevin took up his book and pen again. Mike shifted further back on his bed, crossing his legs and lowering his face into his palms. There were still tremors shaking through his body. He wanted out. He wanted to be somebody else, _anybody else,_ and he so desperately wished that he had another person to blame for the numbers on his chest, and for the bars between him and the rest of the world. But the truth was that he’d led himself here, by making mistake after mistake, and the locks and doors of this prison would not open for him. He was so used to not playing by the rules. He’d found a way out of everything. Every situation, every disaster, every setup. But not now. He was done for.

There was no running. Not this time.

Kevin’s bed creaked again, followed by the tap of feet against the floor. Mike felt a palm land on his shoulder, and couldn’t suppress the surprised jump of muscle that tightened his shoulder at the touch.

“You’ll be alright, kid,” Kevin told him, “give it some time.”

His voice was thick and slow, and his hand was firm; Mike felt a little sliver of something coax its way past his panic, felt a warm glimmer of relief nestle behind his ribs and thread itself through a heartbeat. His next breath came easier. Kevin patted his shoulder, and then stepped away. Mike wanted to beg him to stay close.

“I’ll give you some privacy, man.”

 

***

 

Mike ate hurriedly in the cafeteria that night. Everything tasted, and looked, like formless sludge, so it wasn’t a difficult feat. He tried not to stare too hard at the slimy lumps that were piled up into vaguely-coloured piles on his tray. It seemed more like eating vomit than actual food. He favoured the limp fries over anything else he’d been served, and chewed despondently on them, wondering if he’d puke all this up later. His guts were roiling and his throat was tight.

He’d deliberately hidden himself up the back of the room, on an empty table away from everybody else. Halfway through dinner, someone sat beside him; he froze, immediately gripped by panic.

“Relax,” Kevin laughed, “it’s me.”

Mike did relax, sighing shakily. Kevin took up his fork and started eating, the calm manner with which he went about it suggesting he’d gotten used to the cuisine a long time ago.

“How can you eat this crap?” Mike asked, trying not to sound as exhausted as he was.

“It ain’t so bad.”

“Yeah, when starvation is the only other option,” Mike grumbled.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, brother,” Kevin smirked, one side of his mouth tipping up into the cheeky expression, “but starvation _is_ the only other option.”

Mike couldn’t tell whether he was supposed to feel chastised by that comment or not. He returned his attention to the offending tray before him. He was hit by a wave of hopelessness, and for a moment was certain that he might just start crying in front of all the other inmates. He closed his eyes, and tried not to think of Rachel. Of how beautiful she’d looked in that white dress, and how heartbroken she’d been when he’d ended things with her. He’d have liked to believe that they could make it after he got out, and hey, maybe they could– but he wouldn’t tie her to him while he was gone. She needed to be free to make her own choices. She had the right to find a husband who had no goddamn criminal convictions.

“You alright, man?”

“I’m,” Mike began helplessly, “I’m fine,”

He could hear the pitch of his voice rising, and sucked in a sharp breath to try and wrestle back some control. Kevin tapped the back of his knuckles against Mike’s arm, and the small gesture of brotherly comfort twisted Mike up inside in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Keep it cool until we’re locked in our cell for the night, yeah.” Kevin murmured. “Gotta keep a brave face in here.”

Mike nodded. He chose that moment to look out across the dining area, and noticed a huge, hulking prisoner bending down to speak to another inmate who was seated at a table. Something about the exchange didn't feel right. When the bigger man was done speaking, the seated guy turned around, craning his neck to stare across the room– and his eyes, unmistakably, fixed on Mike.

"Jesus, don't make eye contact." Kevin hissed.

Mike looked away, blinking rapidly. "Who was that?"

"Frank Gallo," Kevin told him, "He runs the place. Don't piss him off, whatever you do."

The easy confidence of Kevin's attitude had snapped into wariness and fear so quickly that Mike felt more than alarmed. It must've showed, because Kevin sighed and said,

"Look, stick with me and you'll be okay. He's probably just trying to freak out the new guy, make sure you know he's the boss. Eat up, roomie."

Mike smiled sheepishly. "Roomie, huh? Didn't know this was high school."

The joke fell flat, mostly, but Kevin laughed anyway. Mike appreciated that.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took some liberties with the layout of the prison. The particulars of Kevin's backstory will become apparent in future chapters.

After dinner there was a sharp, buzzing alarm that rung across the dining area and set Mike’s teeth on edge. Every single inmate rose slowly, lumbering to their feet, casual in their downtrodden routine as if they had been doing this all their lives, and would continue doing this for a very long time. Mike watched everyone get up and wondered what all these men had done. What had landed them here.

“Where’s everyone going?” He asked Kevin, voice getting stuck in his throat, catching like the beginning of a sob. He needed to get a handle on this. He cleared his throat and looked away, just missing the concerned look that his new cellmate shot in his direction.

“Shower time,” Kevin responded hesitantly, like he knew exactly the reaction his answer would inspire, “empty your tray and leave it with the others before we go.”

Mike did, the world swirling and bending around him in vivid, hyperreal detail. This was some kind of defence mechanism. His instincts were razor-sharp, teetering on an unsteady edge, every inch of the walls around him pulling at the centre of his attention. Being this anxious wasn't good for the human body. He felt like he was going to burn out in no time at all, and the dinner he'd just eaten sat in his stomach like a stone. He remembered all the prison movies he’d ever seen, tried to console himself with classic quotes from Shawshank Redemption. It didn’t really work.

He thought about that old saying, the one about dropping the soap, and felt ill. He hadn’t seen a naked man up close since…

“Hey, you comin’?”

Mike couldn’t look Kevin in the eye. Christ, what a time to be remembering Trevor.

“Hey,” Kevin said again, softer this time, “c’mon. Don’t want to get on the wrong side of the guards right off the bat, do you?”

Mike shook his head. No, he didn’t. He discarded his tray in a pile with the others and walked alongside Kevin with as much confidence as he could muster.

 

***

 

The shower room was a massive, open space, all the more ominous for the crappy overhead lighting and barred windows. The first thing that struck Mike, when he and Kevin were done waiting in line, was how _dirty_ it looked. Everything was a repugnant off-white, the floor plain concrete and the walls mostly covered by cracked white tiles. A few feet above head-height, just above the row of shower heads, tiles fell away to reveal concrete that was even older (and far more stained) than the floor. Naked bodies were clustered under the sprays of water, so much wet flesh in one place that Mike didn’t know where to look, or what to do with himself. Most of the men were tattooed. The air was thick with clouds of steam, and the saltiness of sweat and testosterone. Sound seemed to be amplified across the space, and every second guy was belting out laughter or yelling to someone.

A brick bench ran the length of the room, towels thrown over the back of it or discarded on the floor alongside crumpled prison uniforms. Mike headed for it immediately and sat down, desperately seeking a way to procrastinate his first act of public nudity since his teenage years. If this even counted as public nudity. Whatever. He was fucking _stressed._

Kevin followed him, unperturbed, hands already making quick work of the buttons on his blue overshirt as he kicked off his shoes. He was grinning again. That lopsided, endearing expression that had made Mike trust him so much.

“What’s that look for?” Mike snapped, fully aware he was taking his anger out on the wrong person. Kevin didn’t seem bothered, thankfully. He shrugged off his overshirt, pulled his white t-shirt off over his head, and rolled the two into a loose ball before dropping them both on the bench. The solid thickness of his torso ended in the closed circle of his waistband. The lines of his body, defined and solid, suggested he was very used to rough manual labour. Faint, pale scars seared into darkly tanned skin supported this theory, and spoke of days spent working hard under the blazing sun. He didn’t look like the egotistical weightlifters that frequented Mike’s world at Pearson Specter Litt. He was blunt and strong. He moved slowly, with confidence. Like he could win a fight if it came to that.

“Just remembering my first time in here. I’ve been where you are.” Without any further preamble or warning, Kevin pulled down his pants. Mike almost got whiplash from how quickly he ducked his head away. His cheeks burned pink in a humiliated flush, and he scratched at his neck uncomfortably. A couple of nearby men hooted at him, jeering teasingly at his reaction.

“Hey, back off, it’s the kid’s first night.” Kevin told them as he bent down to step out of his pants. He didn’t bark the request, he just made his point. The men snorted, but went back to washing themselves.

“I’m not a kid,” Mike protested, clearing his throat. He was well aware how weak his conviction was.

“Well, alright then. Come on.” Kevin turned away from him, drawing a hand through his dark hair as he stepped beneath the spray of a shower head. His ass, Mike couldn't help but notice, was just as pert and muscular as the rest of him. Shit.  _Shit._ He needed to keep a one-track fucking mind here and focus on getting his bearings. Between panic and the unfamiliarity of being around so many naked men, Mike's brain was choosing to opt out of the difficult facts and focus on... other things.

Like Kevin.

Mike stood, propelled by paper-thin determination, fists clenched by his sides. He pulled off his cloth shoes, wincing at the unforgiving concrete beneath his bare feet, and then started on his shirts. The men who had gotten rowdy before started hooting again, but this time they sarcasticallycheered him on, and Mike realised what this was. A locker room. This was just like a school locker room. The thought brought him no small amount of relief, and he thought that maybe, just  _maybe,_ he would be able to cope with this after all.

“Come on then, get on with it!”

“Woo, off it comes!”

“Alright, guys,” Kevin chuckled, lathering up his hands, “leave off.”

Fully naked now, Mike strode forward, stepping below the spray next to Kevin. He tried to ignore the weight of his limp cock against the beginning his thighs, offering his new friend a hesitant grin, desperately trying to  _be cool_ with the fact that they were both completely nude. His cheering squad slapped his back in exaggerated, mocking expressions of support.

Kevin offered him a bar of soap. This close, Mike could clearly see the earthy green flecks that dotted Kevin’s irises.

Mike took the soap. His skin was slippery against Kevin’s palm.

 

 


End file.
